Every group of friends has one. The King of Beers is -that guy-. Which one of your buddies is shitcanned and hollering at waitresses forty-five minutes after you got to the bar? Who is throwing up in the lazy boy? Who is standing in the bushes taking a leak, without undoing his zipper? You know when you plan for a week or two to get all the old crew together in one town, and one guy passes out in a pile of empties just as everyone else is showing up and figuring out what to do tonight? The guy who will be wearing the empty 24 pack box as a crown and permanent-markered cockdrawings as the insignia of his esteemed position? That man, my friends, is the King of Beers.

"Dude, chill out. Don't get all bombed right away and just pass out again before we even decide what's going on."

"Hey man, you don't get to be the King of Beers by staying up all night!"